


succession

by mazily



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 00:10:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7383106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tomorrow she will no longer be Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	succession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [apricots](https://archiveofourown.org/users/apricots/gifts).



> Thanks to [redacted] for kicking this into shape.

The sky fades green-grey as the sun rests above the horizon. Sabé paces across the balcony, rehearsing the Queen's final speech. She tastes Padmé's words in her mouth. Shapes her lips, her teeth, around them. Feels Padmé's arms when she moves her own: a turn of the wrist, elbow bent, fingers closing. 

Padmé watches her from near the door. Eyes darkened. Hands clenched together in front of her, tense and careful, back pressed against the wall like it'll fall without her there. Like they all will. Sabé lifts her arm higher. Adjusts her posture. Her voice rings out in a perfect copy of Padmé's voice, only a few hours earlier. A preview of Padmé's cadence, her inflection, tomorrow afternoon.

The sun will be high, and the air humid and hot when she bids her people farewell. When--

(Last night, insects biting, they sat at the edge of the water. Legs bare, touching. Padmé's skin softer than anything Sabé can imagine. They didn't speak. Padmé reached out, tangled her fingers with Sabé's, and they watched the fish jump as long as the light lasted.)

\--Queen Amidala will be Padmé once more. Her term over, their future spread out before them like an endless lake. Sabé stumbles over the last couple of words, but she finishes the speech. Bows her head in a gesture of respect. Padmé unclasps her hands. Pushes away from the wall. Crosses the balcony like she is the supplicant and Sabé is truly her Queen. 

"Your Majesty," Padmé says.

"Your," Sabé begins. She swallows the rest of her words when Padmé kneels down in front of her. Her hair is slightly messy, staticky flyaways marring the lines of her braids. Sabé clenches her fist. Resists the urge to run her finger along the part in Padmé's hair.

"Have you decided what you're going to do?" Sabé asks. Her throat feels dry. She wishes for a moment that she was Force sensitive, that she could call a glass of water to her hand from across the building. 

Padmé smiles. Sad and crooked. "Not yet," she says. 

She has options: Sabé's overheard Padmé discussing them with her advisers, hushed arguments across the table every morning. Words familiar and foreign, Senator and advocate and _maybe I'd like to take a little time for myself_. Sabé tries not to be too greedy. Tries not to want. 

Sabé lets herself touch. The shell of Padmé's ear is soft, and the skin behind her ear is damp with sweat. "Your majesty," Padmé says, voice pitched like a handmaiden, and Sabé feels it in the pit of her stomach. Like free-falling, leaping from a chopter at full speed. "What do you want of me?" Padmé asks.

"Take down your hair," Sabé says.

Padmé reaches up to obey. Fingers tickling their way through knots and braids, hairpins falling to the floor with soft clinks. Sabé watches. Every blink feels three cycles long, and she has to force her breathing into submission. _Inhale, exhale,_ and a sudden choked gasp when Padmé looks up. Hair framing her face. Falling in front of her shoulders like a waterfall.

Sabé runs her fingers through Padmé's hair, combing out the tangles. Tucking it behind her ears so it doesn't hide her face. She leans over—tries not to think of bowing, of the way it feels to need permission to look up—and kisses the top of Padmé's head. 

Padmé makes a noise that sounds like a cross between a felinx and a weep, and Sabé reacts without thought. Hands on Padmé's shoulders, her upper arms, pulling her up until they stand face to face. Padmé's eyes are damp. Bloodshot. Sabé leans forward and presses two soft kisses to her mouth—first to her upper lip, then to the lower—and another to her cheek. 

She steps back. Padmé doesn't follow.

"I think," Padmé begins. She twists her arms awkwardly behind her, fumbling with the clasps on her robes. Sabé unties the front tie. Lets it drop to the floor with a whisper. "I've been asked to serve in the Senate. I think I'm going to."

Sabé blinks. Ignores the pressure behind her eyes and forces herself to smile. To continue helping Padmé undress, to slide her robes down her arms until she stands before Sabé in only her underclothes. "Congratulations," she says. She hopes she sounds sincere, but her voice sounds flat to her own ears. "You'll be a wonderful Senator." 

"I hope so," Padmé says. 

"You will." Sabé is sure of it. She wishes she could make Padmé understand: the knowledge that Padmé will serve Naboo well in the Senate lives deep in Sabé's bones. She wishes they could actually switch bodies so she could make Padmé feel it too. Instead she presses her body against Padmé's. Wills the certainty to flow between them. 

Padmé kisses her. Hands busy with Sabé's robes. Her lips are waxy with lipstick, and Sabé imagines her face being marked with swipes of red. _Long did the handmaiden serve her Queen, forever to protect her life._ The air is heavy. It's been threatening to rain for days. Sabé slides her tongue against Padmé's. Her hands clench and unclench, and she pushes at Padmé's hips until she steps back. Until Padmé's back is pressed against the glass door to her quarters, the light from inside making her practically glow.

They keep kissing, breath harsh and uncomfortable and messy. Sabé can't bring herself to stop. To pull away. Tomorrow Padmé will no longer be Queen, but she will always belong to Naboo. Sabé is selfish; she can't go on sharing Padmé with an entire planet. An entire galaxy. When Padmé steps down tomorrow, Sabé won't follow. She isn't sure where she'll go, what she'll do next, but she moves her hand to Padmé's breast for one last time tonight. Flicks her fingernail against her nipple, traces a farewell song into her skin. 

There's a spark somewhere to her right, and she pulls back. Wipes her mouth and chin, grabs her blaster from the bench. Reaches around Padmé to open the door. "Inside," she says. She looks around, doesn't see anything. "Don't want our new Senator getting caught with her robes off by some holo-stalker."

Padmé kisses Sabé's ear. Steps inside. Sabé collects her clothing, the datapad with her speech on it. It's finally fully dark outside; stars twinkle above, a ship passes by. Sabé practices her speech in her head. Mouths, "My fellow citizens of Naboo. Today I step down as your Queen." 

The lights inside dim. "Come on," Padmé calls. Her voice sounds light, happy. Free.

"Coming, Your Majesty," Sabé says. She walks inside the royal quarters for one last time. Closes and darkens the door behind her.


End file.
